82 - Walk on the Wild Side

Joe lay on a comfortable bed provided to him by the Murrceeian priests, staring at the ceiling. He had thrown off the blanket and lay on top of the sheets, though it had nothing to do with being hot. As a matter of fact, there was a slim window facing toward the sea, large enough to let a cool breeze ruffle through the room.

The moon, still fat and round in the sky, lit the space he had been given. The outer walls were made from a smooth tan stone. The interior walls, floor, and ceiling were constructed from planks of beautiful amber-colored wood. Woven wall hangings and soft carpets made everything about the area soothing and welcoming.

And yet Joe was still wide awake and restless. He had Hawking to talk to, but the entity's last bit of news had been a bit of a conversation killer.

By surpassing level 10, your initiation phase has come to an end. Your experience gains will no longer be elevated to catch you up to the local populace, and your period of protected amnesty has elapsed.

Joe had been expecting something of the sort fairly soon. In roughly one week, he had outpaced most of the folks he had seen in Crowfield and was verging on the same level as many of the sailors aboard the Tide Dancer. There was no way his level of growth should continue as it had for much longer.

The others had left him shortly after the Murrceeian cleric had performed wonders on both Count Valloc and Hah'roo. The best part was once they identified Joe as a healer class, they were happy to include him in their ministrations and explain what they were doing.

While their healing was very different from Joe's, it was still interesting to witness their spells in action. Joe's [Dispel Rot] broke down small clumps of corruption so a person's immune system could deal with it. It pushed larger clots along to drive them out of the body. The Murrceeian spell [Expunge] skipped having the patient do anything. It just straight-up erased the taint. This is why Joe's method failed with Count Randeau. Sougath's enhanced lycanthropy was not something the nobleman's body could ever break down. Even the tiny scraps of curse Joe had left behind had grown and festered while he had been fighting the Night Haunt.

For Hah'roo, they did not want to take any chances. Even here in Illuminaria, with its vastly superior magical healing, head injuries were no joke. The clerics he had been working with called in a fortieth level priest who used a spell known as [Sanification]. The man told Joe that the healer version of the skill was known as [Panacea]. Both of these legendary-level spells were essentially cure-all enchantments. In the blink of an eye, every wound and condition on the rope-dancer vanished.

The clerics wanted to observe all three patients for a time, Joe included. Though they found no physical trace of contagion in Joe, they did detect some troubling alterations to his pattern. During this time, Joe spent an hour recounting the tale of Sougath's and Azbekt's demise as best he could. Hah'roo also informed the Count of the death of Sir Groven.

"I think it was wise you did not bring this up with Azbekt earlier. Even though the enforcer redeemed his earlier behavior in the end, further fracturing of our group before the battle could have proved our undoing. I will speak with the prelates of Glauri. They are the ones most capable of forestalling any retribution from Phealti or the House of Amberwroth. I cannot guarantee success with the latter, but I think the church will be fine. Azbekt's sacrifice and gift will go a long way towards telling them he no longer saw you as a threat to the realm."

As Hah'roo and the Count were preparing to leave, Joe decided to remain in the temple. It had been an insanely long day; dawn was only a couple of hours off. He was comfortable here. As much as he wanted to spend a night in a real fantasy inn, it was too late, and he was too wired and frazzled to enjoy it tonight. Something for another night.

He was given another small room similar to the one had the first night. Yet, no matter how soothing the environment was, the wildness in him would not be still. It raged and rumbled around inside Joe like a beast in a cage. When it became clear sleep was not an option, Joe finally gave up. He dressed, made the bed, and then quietly slipped out of the room. Even though it was still dark, Joe needed to be outside.

He walked the long, cool corridors, occasionally passing and nodding to the few clerics who were still awake at this hour. The temple of Murrcee was open to anyone at any hour. It was one part church with a gigantic hall for worship. It was also a hospital with a whole wing for healing and recovery rooms. Additionally, it offered housing to those in need. Joe had seen several of the refugees from the Tide Dancer when he passed through one of the dormitory floors.

He felt a bit guilty that he had been given such a nice room only to leave it behind while some of the others were only allotted bunks and chests in long halls designated for the displaced and the homeless. Joe wondered if his deluxe accommodations were an enticement for him to consider joining the church.

Being honest with himself, Joe had no intention of aligning himself to any god yet, but if there were one church that he would consider so far, it would have to be Murrcee. 'Give care to those in need' was their primary tenet. That was something Joe wished was the first priority of every church he had known, both here and on Earth.

Stepping outside, feeling the wind on his skin, and tasting the sea on the air was utter bliss. Just being out from the confinement of a building felt like a massive chain sliding off his shoulders, freeing him to join the night. Joe's brisk step into Telemont Square turned into a jog after a dozen strides. Within a minute, he was running. He found joy in dashing through the empty streets.

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Joe had no destination in mind, just the need to let loose physically. He relished in the freedom he felt. He was no longer bound, not by illness or obligation, not by edict or even his own apprehensions. Finally, the world of Illuminaria was open to him.

Joe dashed down to the wharves, past the rocking ships. He bounded across the muti-leveled piers, deliberately vaulting obstacles and even attempting some novice parkour maneuvers up and down ladders and stairs. His body had changed, and he felt alive, bounding through the dark streets.

The full moon had finally set, but the loss of its light no longer mattered to him. With [Night Eyes], he could still see. The near black streets were as clear to him as if it were a cloudy day. He could even see into the dark water to spot fish darting around the hulls.

[Tracker] was a mixed blessing as the city and harbor were extremely pungent, yet it was a whole new sense that was now speaking to him. There were nuances in the air that his mind was already learning how to discern. He could tell when a bakery a few blocks away lit its ovens to start the morning bread. The incense from the temples trickled down the lanes in a tangle of dry and sweet scents. He was even a bit embarrassed to realize that from the street outside, he could tell the difference between the affectionate musk of lovers in their bedrooms and the carnal odor rolling out of a brothel.

[Morphic Form] was weird. It gave him slight boosts to strength when he jumped and agility when he dashed across narrow beams. He had only to try and listen, and his ears reshaped themselves to catch the sounds better. It felt like his body was constantly making small shifts to optimize itself to meet the challenges he was attempting. At first, it felt strange, but soon it became second nature. The only real drawback was the stamina drain. Joe quickly learned there was a big difference between the constant use of moderate stamina and median stamina.

Over all of these, Joe relished the athleticism [Hunter's Pursuit] provided him. His run with Kaid had been a shadow of how his body could now perform. He was easily hopping over ten or twelve-foot jumps without even trying. When he reached the seawall, Joe effortlessly scrambled up it, aided by his claws. At the top of the wall, he jogged along its rim with a surety of balance that he never would have known before.

Eventually, the wildness inside him settled down, and he slowed to a walk. As the world was tinted in shades of blue from the pre-dawn sky, Joe sauntered through avenues of Peregrine's Bay, not yet ready to head indoors. His climb had brought him level with temples again, but he was still a few streets away from the main square. He ambled through diminutive holy sites, many of them nothing more than a single altar or small shrine.

As he wandered, Joe noted the gods they were dedicated to. He passed a tall pole covered in bright ribbons, small toys, and whistles for the child god Wymsee. A stone rune-carved wheel honored a dwarven god of sharpening named Weht. A deity of finding lost loves, named Seakur, was represented by a statue of a bird with a dozen heads, all of which were looking in different directions.

As Joe passed an almost unnoticed block of carved stone, a beautifully glazed clay teapot and mug appeared out of nowhere on top of the rock. A rich cinnamon-scented steam trickled out of the spout, drawing him closer. He read the granite pedestal and saw he was standing beside the shrine of Nhvr, the god of pathways untaken.

A small moat had been dug around the central standing plinth, and it was filled with numerous flat stones. Each of these had a word written on it. Some seemed sad, like 'father' or 'mother.' Maybe these were conscious decisions, but Joe felt that many belonged to folks to whom parenthood had been denied. There were a number of professions too, careers not chosen or escaped from. Among the stones were some life choices such as 'thief' or 'concubine.'

Joe had just passed through a life-changing experience, and it seemed as though the small god of unfollowed ways wanted him to take a minute and reflect on it. He poured a cup of the blessed brew and picked up a stone that had appeared beside the teapot. Folding into a cross-legged sit, Joe considered his new path.

He was well aware of everything that had now been opened for him. He was stronger and more capable. He knew he still had a long way to go, needing to learn more, train more, keep growing. He had come to truly appreciate being a healer, but that was not all he would be. Baleful Warder would allow him to become something more on top of that, something magical, something adaptive.

But these were the roads he would walk. Nhvr was asking him to consider the roads he was leaving behind. Thanks to his [Writ of Innocence], he could write down 'outlaw' or 'prisoner,' yet neither of those felt like what was being asked of him.

He considered 'pushover,' given the growth he had undergone in the last few hours, but it was still too soon to make that claim just yet. Joe was only just now catching up to people his age, thanks to the leveling boost of being a newcomer and having so many fights above his level. Even so, he was a long way from a seasoned adventurer.

There was one thing he could think of that he was determined to leave behind.

In this new life, and the last one, he had been trapped. First, by obligation, not that he would have given anything less for his family, but during those years with his parents' and brothers' illnesses and their passings, he had felt cut off from all his dreams. Then his illness erased even the possibility of them.

Illuminaria gave him a whole new world, yet the freedom Hawking wanted him to have had also been curtailed by a bad turn of fate. Encountering Sir Groven and pretty much everything that had happened since healing Missus Dellham had railroaded him down a path he didn't want to follow. That was what he wished to leave behind. Being bound to a path he hadn't chosen. Trapped by disease or fanatical biases.

Using one of his claws, he carved out a word: 'Choiceless.' It was not a great word, but it was the one thing Joe wanted more than anything else to be done with. From here on out, he wanted to drive his own road, not be driven.

Taking a sip of the russet-colored liquid, he felt it warm his insides and more. Almost like a tiny leveling, Joe felt a tingle of euphoric confidence. The god Nhvr had accepted his offering and blessed him for it. As the mini-cascade-like sensation energized him, church bells began to ring out in the dawn light.

The carillon notes were rejoiceful, signaling the end of a nightmare. Somehow, Joe knew word of Sougath's slaying was spreading through the nearby temples and the city. One particular bell rang deeper than all the others; the booming peal sounded just like the word 'Hope!'

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